Choke

Mark 4:18-19

And these are they which are sown among thorns; such as hear the word,

And the cares of this world, and the deceitfulness of riches, and the lusts of other things entering in, choke the word, and it becometh unfruitful.

 

Crowded.

My mind holds images from thirty-nine years:

memories of sights and sounds,

tastes and smells, and textures that still haunt my imagined skin;

And my imagination multiplies the sensory traces,

over populating drawers and dustbins of neuronal storage

with things that were and were not, that could be and could not;

When I slip through the pensive portal, I trip and wander,

I get lost in the piles where, sometimes, I slide in

and, in climbing out again, a cascade covers me once more –

shaking my head to loose my mind from the brain tentacles,

I hear the still, small voice of my heart asking:

What do I want?  What am I after?  Why am I here?

 

A gift of seeds flung wide upon a plot of earth in waiting,

until day and night, sun and rain and inner calling

uncover the sprouting of a myriad of plants;

some thin and delicate with curling tendrils,

some broad and rough with jagged edge,

all green and growing, all striving for fulfillment,

though not all intended, not all in pursuit of the diviners purpose;

The hoped-for bloom as best they can, yielding forth their fruit of beauty,

but fainting as they try to find the light in the jungle,

to give their nectar and bear their seed for continued grace;

they are overcrowded, ghostly versions of intention,

rhyme overindulged and swamped without reason

and reason barren and wasted without rhyme.

 

A strawberry raised from its sleepy bed

by the innocent fingers of a little boy who loves.

The love gift is given to a well pleased mother

who eats the strawberry with noises of joy.

And then another gift milked from green, earthen utter

and given up as a heart within the hand.

Met with approval, the berry is put aside

and the little hand is taken to run and catch the next thing planned.

The one who received is busy and mindful

of daily doings and showing off clean hands to the world.

While staged acts of bravery are performed beneath spotlights

and audience applause feeds egos in training,

The strawberry ripe and ready for giving

waits patiently for someone to take it in.

The raining of clouds, the burning of sun,

cannot absorb the goodness within;

The ants and the day flies eat the sugar,

but no one comes to eat the love,

To eat the wealth of life juicing from beauty,

beauty of love that gives itself away.

 

Christina Chase